Stacking Decks & Playing Games
by xConcr3t3 Jungl3 5urf3r
Summary: Life is like a game of cards. The hand you are dealt is determinism; the way you play it is free will.   -Jawaharlal Nehru
1. Grandson

_Author Notes:  
>-This is the AU story of Stephanie giving the baby up for adoption in 2002 (she really was pregnant when they split up) and Vince's diabolical plot to retain control of WWE through the boy nearly 20 years later.<br>-Since I have no idea who will be wrestling in another decade I decided to use the WWE's current roster  
>-Stephanie and Triple H are General Managers of Raw and Smackdown. *they are together too*<br>-In this fanfic everything is real. The storylines the names the everything. No real lives outside the wwe exist.  
>-Enjoy<em>

xConcr3t3 Jungl3 5urf3r  
>presents<br>Stacking Decks & Playing Games

Chapter One: Grandson

She walks into the old, musty gym stopping just short of the ring. WWE's own Linda McMahon. There's a formality, a seriousness to her stance. From head to toe, it's like she's following the strict rules of a ritual after years and years of practice. Everything in order. Nothing out of place. Even her expression is as stony as Stonehenge until she sets her eyes on the young man on the opposite side of the ring wailing away on a punching bag as his trainer shouts out orders.

Trainer: Right. Left. Right. Right. Left. Jab. Jab. Uppercut-

He's gorgeous. Handsome is just too feeble and inaccurate when it comes to describing the Adonis-like young man with features chiseled like a finely-carved Michelangelo statue- strong jawed and nose symmetrical. He is definitely his father's son- the sandy blonde locks, height, and build all clear indicators- but she sees the McMahon in him. She sees the brilliant blue irises and one edge of his lip curled up in that signature McMahon smirk.

A wild torrent of emotions swirl within the elderly women but she keeps it all contained within. She's good at that. Some would say she is an expert with all the practice she's had. So she hides it, contains it, buries it in the hopes of seeming professional.

Linda: That's enough for today gentleman!

The small woman's voice carries even over the trainers, the crisp monotone contrasting the jagged barking of the older gentleman. Piercing blue snaps in the direction of the voice narrowed in aggravation. And he isn't the only one.

Mackey: Yo, c'mon grandma. Can't ya' see we're workin' here.

The New Yorker hated people in his gym interrupting his sessions almost as much as he hated being told what to do. Seeing the stubborn old man ready to blow a gasket, his own aggravation dissipates and he gives the balding man in his mid-forties a gentle nudge on the shoulder to get his attention.

Decker: (low tone) It's cool. I got this, Mackey. (calling out) Can I help you, M'am?  
>Linda: I'm here to see you actually. Do you have a minute?<p>

Suspiciously, his eyes narrow in on the woman wondering what she could possibly want with him. That's when familiarity strikes. He's seen this woman before. From the murky depths of his mind he puts a name with the face. Linda McMahon. Wait? Linda McMahon? Suddenly his suspicious edge returns. What could she possibly want with some kid from Brooklyn?

He bridges the gap between them unstrapping his gloves and casting them aside somewhere along the way. Then, he offers her an extended hand figuring a formal greeting is in order when it comes to dealing with such an iconic presence.

Decker: Decker Davis. What can I do for you, Mrs. McMahon?

She hesitates a moment before taking his hand and shaking it firmly which the teenager catches instantly. At the age of fifteen his adoptive parents died in a car accident while following his bus home from his second state championship in wrestling. After their funeral, he lived on the streets for a year until Mackey found him and when you're out there, cold and alone, learning to read people isn't a luxury; it's a necessity.

Linda: What if I told you I wanted to extend an invitation to join the WWE?  
>Decker: I'd say you're a cruel woman for dangling such invitation in front of me in a "what if "scenario.<p>

Decker Davis isn't a cynic… at least not intentionally. If anything he is forced into it, damned by circumstance after circumstance until this perspective took form. If something was too good to be true in his life then it wasn't in his life or it had strings and he was no man's (or in this case woman's) puppet.

Decker: I don't mean to be rude, Mrs. McMahon. It's just that if things seem too good too good to be true, it's because they are.

She didn't know words could make her bleed like this, especially ones she's heard a million times. Not only tears her heart strings but severs them completely. _If things seem too good to be true, it's because they are. _She inhales the cruel words letter by letter sticking to her lungs and suffocating her. These are words a grandchild of hers should ever utter. He should have felt loved and like the world is full of infinite possibilities. Nothing should be out of reach and he should never feel undeserving.

Linda: You're Decker "Doomsday" Davis champion of the Brooklyn Bash- New York's most elite underground fighting circuit- with an extensive background in karate, mixed martial arts, and All-state in wrestling two years: you have all these accomplishments underneath your belt and you don't believe the WWE would be interested in you?  
>Decker: No I don't.<p>

It just comes out. Natural. Automatic. That cynicism blurts out before he can even process the words. Well-developed arms cross over chiseled abs that protrude through the cottony fabric of his black t-shirt and, despite himself, he gives her one more chance.

Decker: What I _do_ believe is that you're hiding something and you can either tell me what it is or I politely decline

An ultimatum. McMahons like dishing ultimatums but excepting them is an entirely different story. He knew this and he found his brain screaming at him to take it back and graciously accept her offer. Deal with the consequences later. Yet, on the outside he appeared set in his words- an impenetrable force.

Linda: You'd throw away a chance like this because you believe I'm hiding something?  
>Decker: No offense, m'am but I don't think. I know. I know that since you've given me the offer you've yet to meet my eyes and that there are cracks in that stony façade of yours that scream there's a personal investment in my answer. So yeah, I guess I am.<br>Linda: You have your mother's eyes.

It came out as a broken whisper and it takes him a moment to decipher her words but it gradually sank in, permeated his brain and struck his heart with the force of a semi-truck. His mother? The woman he called mom since he was able to speak had brown eyes- warm eyes that he could do no wrong in but he knew he was adopted… knew that there was a woman somewhere out there that owned the title mother and a part of him was always curious as to who she was despite his indifferent exterior.

Decker: My mother?  
>Linda: Yes. Your mother. My daughter.<p>

To be continued… that is if enough people show interest.  
>Review!<p> 


	2. Marked

_Author Notes:  
>Thanks to McLevesque Fan 1, lonnii, dldb, &amp; Play the Game for reviewing and inspiring me to continue.<em>

**xConcr3t3 Jungl3 5urf3r  
>presents<br>Stacking Decks & Playing Games  
>A Wrestling Fan Fiction<strong>

Chapter Two: Marked

Hazel eyes roam methodically over the file of ivory papers in front of him on the Santos mahogany desk hoping that the files hidden mysteries would just reveal themselves to him. Who was this up and comer and how in the hell did he get slipped into the roster- his roster?

Triple H: "Who are you?"

He spoke to the picture of the young man staring back at him with eyes that bear a familiarity that he can't seem to place. Again and again he reads the newly turned twenty year old- the WWE's youngest wrestler in the history of sports entertainment- looking for the reason so many members of the board fought tooth and nail to get him into their roster but yet again his search comes up empty.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Stiletto heels pound the concrete flooring in the hallway outside of his office growing nearer and nearer until finally they arrive in the office and stop at his desk. Hazel eyes desperately try to remain focused on the files but gently glide up the brunette before him. He could never resist her witchery.

Triple H: "Whataya' want, Steph?"  
>Stephanie: "The question isn't what I want my dear husband. It's what do I need."<p>

If the sugary sweet tone of hers wasn't enough to get his attention the dangerously low cut hem of her dress and the way she sat across his desk definitely were. Licking his hungry lips in response, Triple H let his eyes roam freely over her and removed himself from his seat to place himself in the space between her legs.

Triple H: "And what is it you need?"  
>Stephanie: (seductively) "You."<p>

She pulls him down by the collar of his button-down into her own hungry lips starving for celebration. They'd done it. Their plan worked and she and Hunter now controlled the WWE management. It was a time to rejoice. A time to celebrate. A time to live like the king and queen they were.

However their celebration takes a brief pause as the center of Stephanie's back comes into contact with the newest WWE superstars information. She pulls it out from beneath her as Hunter buries his face in her neck.

Stephanie: (breathlessly) "Doing a little recon on the rookie?"

Triple H pulls up to meet the brunette's eyes and decides to unload the worries he has about the up and comer off his shoulders.

Triple H: "It just doesn't make any sense, Steph. How does some street rat from Brooklyn go from not even being a blip on the radar to being a superstar in the blink of an eye? It just doesn't make sense unless he had a little help."  
>Stephanie: "Are you thinking my father has something to do with this?"<br>Triple H: "Oh I know Vince does but the question is why."

Genuine concern flashes in her baby blues as she runs through all the possible implications of his father bringing the boy in but she quickly writes them off. If or should she say when her father comes back to take what's rightfully his, it won't be through some punk kid. Besides she didn't want to think about it now. She wanted to bask in the glory of winning the battle before she set her sight back on the war.

Stephanie: "You know what, don't worry about it. Nothing and nobody's going to stand in our way."  
>Decker: "C'mon, now. Don't cha' know that sweeping statements like that usually come back to bite you in the ass?"<p>

Two sets of eyes narrow into a glare as they snap their attention towards the man in question leaning nonchalantly in the doorway pretending catching his parents in an intimate situation doesn't make him want to toss his cookies or that his skins crawling just being near to the people that'd abandoned him at birth. In fact, the first encounter is a displeasure for all parties involved.

Triple H: "Beat it. Can't you see we're a little busy here?"  
>Decker: "I didn't mean to spoil the mood. I just wanted to deliver a message."<br>Stephanie: "And what message would that be?"

A devious smirk plays across lips that could only be described as a taste of perfection before he speeds the distance between them, forcefully tears Triple H off Stephanie, and drives his knee hard into his ribs on the way down. Then steel toed boots are driven into the GM's ribs in an ongoing assault as Stephanie scrambles off the desk. Yet before she can do a thing to come to her husband's aid, the young assailant pulls back and puts up his hands as a sign he was finished.

Decker: "You've been marked."

He spoke in a soft, cultivated voice that contradicts everything he feels or the message being sent. Those blue eyes lock in on almost identical ones looking at one another with the same undertones of shock, fear, anger, and ruthless aggression. But there's something different about his eyes and everything about him really. He's been weaponized, hardened by the challenges life has thrown at him and adapted accordingly to. The kid never had a chance and that startled her, knowing that she could be next on the warrior's hit list.

Stephanie: "Get the hell out of my office!"

His head cocks sideways, brows dip down, and he vaguely wonders what's running through that pretty little head of hers. Then he sees it and is able to read her like a book- a children's one at that. He closes in on her like she's prey and he's a famished carnivore.

Decker: "Go on, Steph. Keep looking at me like I'm the monster but, just know, I'm looking at you the same way."

Part of her wanted to ask just what in the hell he meant by that but the more dominant side of her wants to strike down this opposing force putting it in its place before it's uncontrollable. She jabs a bony index finger into his chest and pokes him repetitively in order to drive her message home.

Stephanie: "Listen here, you insufferable Neanderthal! I don't know who you think you are but I'm Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley and I've ended peoples' careers for far less than that little stunt you just pulled."

Piercing blue penetrates her rock hard demeanor, and he lets out a dry humorless laugh.

Decker: "Game on."

His eyes flash down to the man that'd taken the brunt of the assault and possible broken ribs- the man that he knew would want revenge and he readily awaits it.

Decker: "No pun intended."

xXx

Elsewhere the graying gazillionare gazes at the monitor with lips curled upwards into a gleaming grin. The battle lines have been drawn and he couldn't be more proud of his grandson for the ruthless aggression shown.

Shane: "He shows excellent promise."

The older man nods at his son's words, the cogs in his head practically visible in his eyes as he engineers the plan in his head. War has been declared, the young warrior not wasting any time on his quest for vengeance.

Shane: "How did you know he'd hold a grudge?"

His son asked the question in a wondrous awe and Vince knew exactly why the daughter outsmarted the son. He couldn't depict what makes a champion, what makes a true warrior. Decker Davis had something within him, something to prove. It's a quality not many possess.

It's fire.

In fact, the boy is all fire all the time with zero intention of ever burning out. His background practically speaks for itself. He acts. He fights… Never backing down and following his heart regardless of the consequence. That fighting trait handed down from father to son proves to Vince that he'd fight anything contradicting where his heart lies.

Vince: "I just did."  
>Shane: "Well I'm glad you did. Steph's gonna be sorry she ever chose that roid-raged dirtbag over family."<p>

xXx

He's supposed to be a soldier that never blows his composure. It's what the McMahons wanted and it's what he wanted but after walking out of that office, walking down the corridor, and moving as far as his feet would allow his stoic façade crumbled. Long fingers slide through flaxen locks and rest at the back of his head as he fights his hardest to take the necessary steps to get some air into his chest.

He'd just waged war with not only the best players in the game but the ones that control all the pieces. Needless to say, he's a dead man. Actually, he's deader than dead. He'll be so dead that the dead man will seem lively by comparison. Doomsday may have signed his own death warrant.

Decker: "Damn it, Davis."

He curses himself for diving into this and not listening to the voice in his head screaming at him to take it slow, play the game as it came but no. Heart over head. ALWAYS! It was a character defect, or maybe his greatest strength. He couldn't decide… but now it was a curse driving him forward right where Vince wants him to.

He's no fool. He's well aware that he's the pawn in the game that'd been played since before he was even born and knows what both sides are capable of. A part of him wonders if he can be as vindictive as the man that'd choke his daughter with a led pipe until she lost consciousness or a daughter that'd marry a man originally to just piss off daddy. He wondered if he could stoop to their level or if he could lower himself lower than he just had. Of course he can… he has to otherwise he might as well fold right now.

He's resurrected from his moment of weakness by the sound of a girl's shrill scream arousing his white knight syndrome. Eyes snap to the monitor overhead where he sees a livid Tyson Kidd approaching the beautiful blonde that'd just beat out Natalya for the women's championship belt.

xXx

She wasn't exactly sure what'd happen. One minute she's hoisting the belt high above her head celebrating a victory and the next she pulled down by the hair, forced down onto the ground maliciously by her opponent's manager. She fumbles backwards clumsily, hand still holding her prize for dear life.

Kidd: "That doesn't belong to you!"

He terrified the usually bubbly blonde beyond reason but she refuses to let go of what she'd worked so hard to earn. She clutches onto it for dear life. Just then the sweetest sound hits her ears, the sound of the cavalry coming.

xXx

Tonight I start the fire  
>Tonight I break away<p>

Break away from everybody  
>Break away from everything<br>If you can't stand the way this place is  
>Take yourself to higher places<p>

xXx

Before the chorus can start, strong legs clad in jeans propel him forward and beneath the red ropes. By the time he enters, Tyson's ready for him- the music blaring as he raced forward with the intention of rescuing a dead giveaway. But Decker's been waiting for this moment since he was five years old and his father took him to his first WWE event. HIS WWE DEBUT!

…And he was going to start it with a bang damn it!

In the beginning it seems Doomsday is going for a tornado kick but when he connects, he begins with a cut kick raising him up into the air. Then his foot which brought him into the original cut kick comes spinning back and connecting with a devastating spin hook kick. Even a wrestler as strong and as athletic as Tyson Kidd doesn't stand a chance against the pure aggression ferociousness of the assault delivered by Decker.

He hits the mat hard and keeps rolling until he's out of the ring leaving the white knight alone with his dream girl, Kelly Kelly. She's breathtaking- definite heart skips a beat material- and he's convinced that there's no words invented in the English language to describe how beautiful she truly is. Suddenly, he's twelve years old and the mere concept of talking to a girl is the scariest thing in the world. Just for a moment. Then he's back to the stoic man, his default setting.

He extends a hand down to her and their eyes meet, ocean blue drowning her instantaneously. She takes it, no hesitation. A part of him wonders if he'd ever be that willing to trust a stranger, to willingly take the hand of a stranger but the more dominant side of him focuses on just getting out, knowing that staying anywhere to long wouldn't be the best choice now. Once she's on her feet, he doesn't let go right away, part of him hanging on to his shot at happiness but he lets go eventually believing that happiness is pike dreams

Kelly: "Who're you?"

Blue eyes meet her in a lustful gaze without a hint of hesitation or regret. His smirk grows across his flawless face and he pulls her a little closer and whispers in her ear.

Decker: "Tonight, I'm the guy that saved your ass."

His voice is husky with desire and mystery; she could feel her heart nearly burst through her chest from the close proximity. Ripples of chills run down her spine freezing her in her spot, in the ring and before she can find any words, he's out of the ring disappearing over the barricade and into the crowd.

**Review!  
>V<br>V  
>V<strong>

**Just hit that little button.  
>It's fun. I promise. <strong>


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